Chapter 5: At Least Stone Doesn't Sling Like Blood, or Spill Like Guts Across the Floor

The week following my conversation with Danny, I was a wreck.

And he bombarded me daily with a slew of Facebook messages that only worsened my condition.

Eventually, I told him I didn’t know how to respond, and that I was really overwhelmed, so he backed off (but not before he sent several paragraphs explaining he didn’t mind waiting for me to come around, in that same attitude of unnerving, quiet confidence he had been using these past few days).

~

Guilt ravaged me. I didn’t want to hurt Danny, but this could only end in his heartbreak.

I knew what it was like to be in his position. As I’ve mentioned before, unrequited love had been my area of expertise for years now.

And it’s painful. People make light of it, and tell you to suck it up and move on, and think things like, How deeply can you possibly love someone who doesn’t love you? (or at least, I imagine they do)—but the feeling it creates of being unwanted, undesirable, not good enough—well, I’ll just say, that feeling is at the root of many of the insecurities I continue to live with.

I used to think, if I can just love this person enough, if I just keep being good to them regardless of how they treat me, one day they’ll love me back.

But they never did. And my heart bled.

~

I didn’t want to do that to Danny. He had a gentle heart. And he truly believed he was hearing from God. How would he react when he discovered he was wrong? What if he didn’t recover?

~

I used to hate those movies in which the female protagonist had a male best friend who obviously adored her and was clearly the greatest guy on the planet (albeit slightly on the socially-awkward end of the scale), but she still chose to be with the dude that treated her like dirt.

~

In college, while in the midst of one of my one-sided love messes, I remember thinking of Danny. I remember thinking how much easier my life could have been, if I could’ve loved him.

And for the first time, I felt a spark of sympathy for those girls in the movies, who couldn’t love the guys they should.

~

Now, years later, that spark reignited. And I hated myself for it.

Still, I could not make myself love him.

~

The other emotion that turned somersaults in my stomach was anger. It was irrational, I was keenly aware, but it was my only defense against the guilt.

How could Danny do this to me? I knew what it was like to have feelings for someone who didn’t return them—I had shed my fair share of bitter tears, I had spent my fair share of sleepless nights, desiring a future that I knew could never be (yes, my thought patterns really are this overdramatic when I let my emotions hold sway). But eventually, I had let those feelings go; I had moved on. Why hadn’t he?

~

And, of course, he had approached me at a time when I was finally secure in my singleness, trying to step in when it was just me and God taking on the world together, stirring up trouble when I had finally abandoned my pity party and started to open my eyes to the others around me in need.

Why did he have to cause all this turmoil?  If he really loved me, why couldn’t he just let me be?

~

The final emotion that tore at my gut’s deepest pit was fear. Because, in spite of my adamant denials and stubborn refusals, there lingered a tiny seed of doubt that had sprouted into a small shoot of terror that whispered—

What if Danny is right?

~

That night, Danny had said that he didn’t mind loving me before I loved him, because God had loved him before he loved God.

He never intended for me to take the analogy further, of course, but it came as the natural progression of my English-major thought-process.

If Danny was God in this scenario, then I was Israel. The harlot. Refusing, running, ignoring. Rejecting, over and over—yet, he wouldn’t let go. After seven years, during which time any sane man would have given up and retreated with whatever was left of his broken pride, Danny was pursuing me once again. In spite of all my denials, he still thought I was worth the risk.

This wasn’t the love story I wanted. To have refused him, ignored him. When he had only ever been sweet and good and gentle. What kind of person would that make me? If this was indeed to be my story, if there was even the most miniscule chance (there wasn’t, there couldn’t be)—how could I even hold my head up when I told it?

If this was to be my story (it wasn’t, it couldn’t be), surely it would reveal me to be little more than a stubborn, selfish jerk.

~

Not that it mattered. This wasn’t my love story.

Because Danny wasn’t right. He couldn’t be.

~

(Yet, that whisper, striking fear—)

But what if he is?

Chapter 4: The Colossal Vitality of His Illusion

Danny and I once had a conversation about The Great Gatsby. It’s one of his favorite books.

I was forced to read it in both high school and college, and hated it both times.

~

“I just can’t stand any of the characters,” I explained.

“What about Gatsby?” Danny countered.

I paused to consider. “I mean, he was a nice guy. But he spent years crafting Daisy into this perfect person in his mind, until he was blind to her faults. You have to be able to acknowledge people’s flaws—not pretend like they don’t exist. When you put someone on a pedestal like that, you turn them into an idol.”

He nodded in assent, looking out across the water. “But I like that he never gave up hope.”

~

Now, weeks later, as I listened to Danny lay his exposed heart into my unwilling hands, it occurred to me—

It’s no wonder he likes Gatsby; they’re the same person.

~

(And if Danny was Gatsby, that made me Daisy. The source of his hope—and the cause of his destruction.)

~

Danny had said from the very beginning that I didn’t have to respond immediately to what he was telling me. I was thankful, because I didn’t have the slightest notion of what to say.

I’m not sure what I had expected, exactly. For him to say he still had feelings for me, sure. Then I, like a reasonable adult, could explain why it would never work, and he, like a reasonable adult, would agree to move on.

But I hadn’t expected this. His overwhelming tidal wave of conviction that we were meant to be together. His unshakeable belief that his pursuit of me was God-ordained. His self-assurance that this was the right time to approach me.

When clearly, he couldn’t be more wrong.

~

I did try to explain. I told him about my season of singleness, and about how we needed to be completely focused on God, not on relationships. I even had him read a text from our mutual friend David that I had saved earlier that year as a reminder to myself, hoping it would resolve the issue.

We should make sure that we as a group keep boundaries in our friendships. We don’t want any of the girls to start to get distracted with romantic feelings and we don’t want the guys to either. We have to all stay focused on the common goal which is edifying our brothers and sisters. Now, if God specifically were to tell [Person A] that [Person B] was the one for him to marry, that would be different, but otherwise we can’t let ourselves get caught up in feelings and get distracted.

(I would never have allowed him to read it, had I known how my plan would backfire.)

~

Danny had stilled by this point, his concentration on my phone in his hand. When he finished reading, he slipped it back to me.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then—“This is scary.”

There was a longer pause this time. He may have been looking at me (I had long-since stopped looking at him).

“I do believe God has said you’re the one I’m going to marry.”

~

As a teenager, my Sunday School teacher once told us a story about two college friends of hers, a girl and a guy who had been close for years, but purely platonically.

One day, God told the guy that the girl was supposed to be his wife. The guy relayed the message to the girl. The girl resisted at first, but after praying, realized the guy was right. So they were happily married.

After hearing that story, I remember thinking it would be nice if my own love story played out like that. Dating had seemed silly to me for some time. After all, I wouldn’t want to date someone unless I knew it was God’s will; and why would it be God’s will for me to date someone but not to marry him?

Obviously, you’d have to make sure the guy was legit and not just saying things to take advantage of you. But all in all, it seemed much easier than trying out different guys in an attempt to find a compatible one.

~

My opinions on this, however, changed immediately when it actually happened to me.

I knew Danny well enough to know he wasn’t saying any of this to manipulate me. I believed he was being entirely genuine.

I also believed he was very genuinely wrong.

Because there wasn’t a chance in the universe that I would ever to marry this man.

Chapter 3: Is That the Light at the Far End of the Tunnel, or Just the Train?

July 8^th, 2013. We met after I got off work that night, probably around 9:30. Danny arrived at the waterfront first, then came to find me when I texted.

As he reached me, he gave me a hug, a little more tightly than usual. “Would it be alright if we talked over on the swings?”

(Danny knew I loved swings. He memorized everything he learned I loved.)

“Sure,” I answered with a shrug.

I followed him to the playground, already beginning to feel nauseous.

~

Once we were seated, he began pumping his legs hard, back and forth, back and forth, propelling the swing forward with far more strength than was necessary.

(I, meanwhile, was barely swaying.)

I considered telling him to calm down—probably more for my sake than his; his movement was making my stomach churn.

I don’t remember when he began to speak, or what words he started with. But when the words did come, they kept coming, with the same rapid, forced rhythm of his legs.

He told me about how I had first caught his eye back in high school. How I went to all the Christian groups and events, just because I wanted to.

He told me he talked to everyone about me: his friends, his pastors. (He talked about me so much, some friends were eventually annoyed with being around him.)

He told me about a blog post I had written a couple years back that he thought might’ve been about him (I didn’t remember the blog post, but I doubted very much that I’d written it with him in mind).

He told me he had secret nicknames he used to talk about me with his friends. One of those names was Acceleration.

He told me that recently, our mutual friend David (who didn’t know about the nicknames), had prayed for an increase in acceleration in Danny’s life.

He told me when we had gone on a picnic with friends the previous month, he noticed I had a freckle on my toe.

He told me how beautiful and amazing and wonderful I was.

He told me he didn’t mind that he had liked me before I liked him, because God had loved him before he loved God. 

He told me he believed we had a future together.

He told and told and told, and I sat, merely listening, not knowing how to tell him I hated every word he spoke.

~

It was like a scene from a movie, the final dramatic climax that most girls dream of—only, in my mind, the genre was all wrong: this wasn’t a romance; it was a tragedy. Even as I sat, staring at the ground as I listened, knowing that there was probably not another man on Earth who would ever love me the way Danny did—knowing there was no one on this planet who would ever treat me better—

I couldn’t make myself love him.

~

“I feel like I’m going to be sick,” I said at length, dragging my feet in the sand.

“Yeah, I feel like that, too,” Danny agreed.

But for completely different reasons, I thought miserably.

~

Every load he released from his heart was landing heavily on mine. The weight was suffocating me.

~

That night, in the span of an hour or two, Danny unleashed seven years of pent-up emotion. And by the time it was finally over, I was reeling.

Chapter 2: You Defy the Gravity in Me

The night Danny confessed his love for me, I couldn’t have been farther from wanting to hear it.

~

The desire for romance had been an idol in my life for a long time. When you’re twenty-two years old and have never been in a relationship, you begin to wonder if something is irredeemably wrong with you—at least, I know I did.

My last semester of college, and for months after graduating, I tortured myself listening to love songs (both sappy and sad) and watching television shows and movies centered on romance, reveling in my pitiful life of unrequited love.

I think some people believe I’d never dated before because I was so wrapped up in God and waiting for His perfect plan for me. But it’s simply not true.

The fact is, no guy that I’d had feelings for had ever pursued me. There have been men in my past that, if they had asked me, I would have dated.

Now, of course, I thank God they never asked.

Now, I see how God protected me from relationships that may have left scars far deeper than the ones I carry with me today.

But in the midst of that desire for a relationship, most times all I could see was my pain.

~

Journal Entry: July 25, 2012

Abba, 

There’s a lot of anger today. I know it’s just part of the rollercoaster. The part where I feel the need to scream. I’m so tired of not being good enough. Of loving more deeply than I am loved in return. I know it shouldn’t matter, after You gave up everything for me. It’s incredibly selfish. It just hurts, Daddy. I’m happy for my friends, I really am, truly and deeply. But it still hurts to watch everyone else falling in love when I feel so alone. Why, God? I’m sure it’s supposed to make me stronger, but I’m afraid it’s only making me more cynical. Father, I need some kind of miracle. 

                                                                                                                         Amen.

~

Journal Entry: August 26, 2012

Abba, 

Is it because I want it too much? I don’t ever want to put this desire before You, Lord, but I would be lying if I said it wasn’t deeply rooted in my heart. To fall in love, get married, have children. I know Your timing is perfect, Daddy. And I know Your grace is enough, whatever Your plans for me might be. But You also said to bring our anxieties and requests to You, to cast them at Your feet. So here’s mine, God. Please. When the time is right. Bring my husband to me. Or me to him. Fulfill this desire of my heart, that we may serve You and glorify Your name together. And until that day…give me peace in the waiting.                           

Amen. 

~

Journal Entry: September 18, 2012

Abba,

I know You already know this, but. I’ve been having a hard time lately. Priorities shift when someone has a significant other (as they should). But it still hurts to know that it shoves me further down the totem pole…that if someone had a gun and forced them to choose between the love of their life and me, I’d be the one with a bullet in my brain. And though in reality I wouldn’t have it any other way, I still have this terrible, frantic, selfish desire that there was someone out there who would pick me. Who thought I was important enough, lovely enough, to protect above all else. I realize it’s selfish and silly, God. Childish, even. And I know that being chosen by You was a gift so much greater than any fragile shadow of love another human being could ever bestow on me. But all this knowledge doesn’t change the fact that, sometimes, it still hurts. Sometimes, it feels like abandonment. Sometimes, the loneliness cuts down deep. But I also know it’s just a feeling. It will pass. And You will hold me until it does.

                        Amen.

~

But in December of 2012, everything changed. It was my second night at The Gathering, a Christian young adult group  that met weekly at a church in town (ironically, it was Danny who first invited me). During worship, the Holy Spirit suddenly seared my heart with conviction for the idols I had allowed to turn my eyes away from the Father.

One of those idols being, my obsession with being in a relationship.

That night, I surrendered that desire to Him. I prayed—God, even if it is Your will that I remain single for the rest of my life (I can’t explain how terrifying it was to say those words), I will serve you. I will no longer set my heart on seeking a relationship. I will not pursue men over You.

And for what was probably the very first time, I truly meant those words.

~

Over the next six months, God gave me the grace to keep my promise. I didn’t do it perfectly, by any means. Soon after I surrendered my heart to Him, I found myself surrounded with more guy friends than I had ever had before. And it was a strong temptation to entertain thoughts that one of these single Christian men could be my future husband.

But I had several prayer-warriors who were wrestling the unseen realm on my behalf, and the Holy Spirit granted me power to, in large part, resist that temptation.

And during those months, God romanced me.

I worshiped with more passion and freedom than I ever had before. I fell in love with prayer, allowing the Spirit to speak to me, through me. I spoke His Word out loud, and felt it change the atmosphere. He gave me an awareness and love for His Body, my brothers and sisters. A boldness rose up in me that I had never known.

I had wasted so much time, pining after lesser lovers when the Lover of my soul was a mere prayer away. I finally understood the gift of singleness, the beauty of an undivided heart.

~

(Pause: side-note.)

If you are single, I plead with you—don’t waste it. Whether it’s for a season or a lifetime, there is something incredible about it that we as a Christian culture are missing out on. I know it may be difficult to believe, because I know how difficult it was for me. But looking back, I wish I had devoted all my single years to Christ the way I devoted those last six months.

~

As I drove to the waterfront to talk to Danny, I was content (cocky, may be more accurate) in my singleness. I was confident (arrogant, may be more accurate) in my belief that it would be a long, long time before I would enter into a relationship—and when I did, it certainly wouldn’t be with Danny.

(No, I didn’t recognize the pride yet. It was still before the fall.)

Chapter 1: Pour Me a Heavy Dose of Atmosphere

When I read his words, my heart constricted, dread settling deep in my gut.

Daniel Sheedy                                                                     July 3, 2013, 5:45am
Hey there.  I wanted to say it last night, but I couldn't squeeze it out. 
Sometime I'd like to have an in-person talk with you about some things.  I'd rather it wasn't before a get together, so either at the end of something, or a random time, if that's all right for you.

~

Danny and I been hanging out for months now. We saw each other almost every day (though, nearly all our time together was spent in groups with various mutual friends).

I knew what he wanted to talk about. And it was the last conversation in the world I wanted to have.

~

(Rewind: Seven years.)

“Did you get my Myspace message?”

Danny sat across from me, in the booth where we always ate lunch. We had been doing so since the beginning of that semester, when I first discovered none of my friends had the same lunch break as I did (our high school was so massive, our lunches were divided).

Danny and I had originally been introduced in English class by a mutual friend. When he'd noticed me eating lunch alone, he'd asked to join me. He had also suggested reading the Bible together daily, and I'd accepted. It seemed harmless enough.

But things became complicated when he sent me a message saying he thought he liked me. 

I ignored it, hoping the problem would go away on its own.

Unfortunately, the tactic was clearly a failure, and now I was mentally kicking myself for not replying over the safety provided by the distance of the internet.

So I offered the only response my sixteen year-old brain could muster (which also happens to be the most clichéd response in the arsenal of rejections): “I’m sorry, but I just don’t see you as anything more than a friend.”

~

Conversations were awkward for a bit (that is, more awkward than usual). But we’d see each other in class, or at the Christian clubs we attended, and exchange friendly words.

Eventually, we graduated. I asked him to sign my yearbook.

               Dear friend Alyssa,
               I think you’re a cool person.
               Jesus seems rather apparent in your life.
               You seem nice and are fun to be around.
               Thanks for being my friend.
                                                            -Danny

~

We essentially lost contact the first few years of college, other than the sporadic Happy Birthday! and Merry Christmas! Facebook posts (by then, of course, Myspace was a thing of the past).

~

(Fast-forward: three years.)

“Do you like Danny?” Caleb was grinning as he asked, the way little brothers always do when they know they’re making you uncomfortable.

“No.” I responded sharply, without hesitation (and with more than a little annoyance), as my defenses rose.

It was the summer between my junior and senior year of college, and I had been seeing more of Danny than I had in years. It had begun with a chance meeting at the gym, where I had started exercising in an attempt to continue the three-days-a-week workout schedule that my roommate and I had initiated the previous semester (this, too, has become a thing of the past).

Since the day Danny had noticed me on the elliptical and stopped by to say hello, I saw him there fairly often. Once in a while, he’d even convince Caleb to join him and his friends for a game of basketball (though he never did convince me to play wallyball, despite his numerous invitations).

And now I sat, facing Caleb’s grin, while we rode home in the van from church-in-the-park, where Danny had made a surprising appearance with a few of his friends.

“His friends said not to tell you, but they wanted me to ask. He kind of likes you.”

“Well, I don’t like him,” I retorted.

~

After that revelation, I did my best to avoid Danny. When he sent me a message the following week saying we should hang out more, my response was coldly concise.

Alyssa Rose                                                                             June 11, 2011, 6:36pm
I have to tell you that my feelings have not changed since high school. I have never seen you as anything more than a friend. So if this sudden interest in my life is a pursuit of something deeper, I have to ask you to let it go. Please.

~

Two years later, things had changed. Not my heart, by any means—that remained apathetic as ever as far as romantic interest was concerned.

But I couldn’t run away this time. There was no way to avoid him; we had the same friends, participated in the same activities. And, I had come to genuinely care about Danny. I couldn’t simply dismiss him as I had before.

With all the time that had passed, I had hoped that he had finally given up. Accepted that after seven years of friendship, there would never be anything more, and decided to move on.

But those hopes were dashed to pieces when I read that message.

And so, I braced myself to break his heart.

Introduction: I Found the One My Soul Loves

Like nearly every other important thing in my life, my love story came about in the most surprising and impossible way.

And when I did finally recognize it (seven years into the making), I knew one day I would have to write it all down. Because from the very beginning, this story has been so much bigger than two people in love. This story, like every story that is good and true, has really only ever been about one thing—the heart of its Author.

~

I’ll do my best to be honest. I make a mess everywhere I go, and falling in love has been no different. Still, when the dust clears and the bruises fade, I have no doubt: this story will be beautiful.

I know, because it already has been.

~

But, before I go further, I should warn you: there are also many things this story is not.

It is not the secret to finding the love of your life.

It is not a formula for you to follow.

It is not a promise that you will get married today, or tomorrow, or next year, or ever.

So please don’t attempt to model your story after mine, or wonder where you’re going wrong because the lines our lives trace are far from parallel. My story is different than yours. And that is not something for us to be afraid of. Our Father is the maker of infinite variety and beauty, and He has marvels enough for the both of us.

This is simply a tiny, tiny glimpse into a few of those marvels, as they have manifested in my life: the beauty of God’s faithfulness—His grace—His tender response to a broken and surrendered and obedient heart in the life of a silly boy who (by some merciful miracle), became the walking, breathing embodiment of a love that always hopes—and a stubborn girl who (after years of a refusal to acknowledge any future other than the one her imagination had already crafted), finally opened her eyes to a dream that was better.